Ford was hunched over in his study, comparing several specimens he'd gathered from a thrilling adventure at the lake with Dipper. He'd pick up a subject, place it back down to write, pick up another, and repeat the process. You stood nervously in the doorway, wiping your sweaty palms on the sides of each respective leg. It felt like a frog was stuck in your throat as you became hyper aware of your breathing and tried not to do it so loud. You would've backed out if Mabel had not been right behind you, making encouraging gestures and mouthing positive affirmations. It felt silly—being coached by a child—but this whole thing had started because of Mabel. She was playing Cupid and much to your luck (if you could even call it that) Ford was the next victim, and she dubbed you a perfect match. You weren't going to complain much, of course, Ford was, well... Ford. A tad socially inept in some situations but otherwise an undeniable genius; an attractive feature to many. Watching him actively work sent the blood straight to your face and you almost felt bad interrupting. You couldn't even remember the excuse Mabel had given you before his name escaped your mouth in an inquisitive tone, breaking his hyperfocus and causing him to jump.

"Yes?" He eventually responded with a heavy sigh after picking up the pen that had flown out of his hand and onto the floor when you startled him back to reality.